The captain was Gavin Mercer, Patrick’s grandson. Patrick had survived captivity and returned in 1973, then married a nurse who helped him recover. When Gavin brought me to his home, I asked why he had never contacted me. Patrick admitted he had written letters but never mailed them. Worse, he had told his parents I knew he was home and wanted no contact. While I searched for answers, he protected a lie—and built a family.
Now widowed and unwell, Patrick hoped we could spend his remaining time together. I wished him comfort, but refused to pretend his silence had cost us equally. At the memorial, I left one final rose and kept our photograph; the happiness we once shared had still been real. Back home, I suggested a seaside holiday with my sister. Later, a plane crossed the sky. This time, I watched it go without sending a kiss.